


Come What May

by LadyEnterprise1701



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Clockwork Prince AU, F/M, this is how I think the forest scene and the immediate aftermath should've gone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 09:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyEnterprise1701/pseuds/LadyEnterprise1701
Summary: “I do not need you to tell me what to think, Albert,” she snapped. Albert snatched his arm from her grasp. “No. That’s Lord Melbourne’s job.” With that, he turned and strode away. This time, Victoria didn’t call him back. // The Queen and the Clockwork Prince have quarreled, and their tension-ridden courtship may be coming to an abrupt end. Victoria is at a crossroads...but she's not the only one with a decision to make. (A three-chapter AU for those last few minutes of "The Clockwork Prince.")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This short tale was the original beginning for my Vicbourne-based NaNoWriMo story...which, I'm sorry to say, has floundered. The good news is, it's floundered because I'm now using it as the foundation of an original, Vicbourne-inspired novel! The bad news is, I won't be posting a novel-length Vicbourne fic anytime soon. 
> 
> But wait, there's more good news! The first three chapters actually work well as a standalone short story if you assume (as I do) that it ends the way many Vicbourne AU stories do: "and they lived happily ever after." And it goes well with my other two Vicbourne stories. You could even say this is something of a prequel for "A Brocket Hall Christmas"! Anyhooz, I've rambled and explained long enough--enjoy :)

_October 14, 1839_

Lifting her navy-blue riding skirt well above her ankles, Victoria tore as fast as she could through the thick carpet of soggy brown leaves that hadn’t had a chance to dry from the light shower a few hours ago. She hadn’t run like this in… _I can’t even remember when. Probably when I was a child?_

_I know. It was when wretched George Cambridge chased me in the garden at Kensington with that pet snake of his._

_This is infinitely more_ fun.

     With a breathless giggle she glanced over her shoulder at the young man pursuing her. To her delight, her cousin grinned from ear-to-ear, the first time she’d seen him smile like that since he arrived. Her hat tumbled off her head; the hairpins struggling to hold her elaborate updo in place came loose. Mamma and Uncle Leopold would probably scold them both if they could see and hear them now, romping and playing like children when they should be discussing a future marriage like adults—but Victoria didn’t care. She hadn’t felt this free in weeks.

     Albert reached for her fallen hat before she could. Breathing hard, Victoria took a shy, clumsy step backwards from her flushed and disheveled cousin. 

     “Your hat,” he said in his thick German accent. 

     Victoria pursed her lips and took it, keenly aware of the intensity of his gaze. In spite of his grin she wasn’t quite sure if his intense gaze was disapproving or simply interested. 

“No no,” he murmured. “Don’t put it back on, please.”

     Victoria raised her eyebrows, hands and hat poised just above her forehead. Albert swallowed so hard she could see it, his dark gaze flitting from the leaves and back to her with obvious, boyish nervousness. 

     “I like to see you unbound,” he explained. “You’re not so…so much a queen.”

     Victoria raised her eyebrows even higher and fought hard to keep back a smirk. They’d both have to be idiots not to miss the irony of _that_ statement. Ever since he and his brother arrived he’d been criticizing the way she carried herself: the way she dressed, the way she talked—even the way she _ate_ , for goodness’ sakes.

     And yet here they were in the middle of the forest behind Windsor Castle…and he’d just said he enjoyed seeing her “unbound.” Victoria lowered the hat, looked her cousin dead in the eye, and dropped the last hint of a smile from her face. 

     “I think that might be treason,” she said. 

     Albert’s eyes widened. In spite of her best attempts to smother it Victoria felt the amusement bubbling up inside, the playful smile forcing its way across her crimped lips sooner that she would’ve liked. When she giggled Albert closed his eyes in relief. 

     “Oh, you’re teasing me,” he gasped. “Ohhh…”

     Victoria threw back her head and laughed. “Of course I’m teasing you! What did you think? That I’d lock you up in the Tower for liking the sight of my hair down? _Lehzen_ might suggest that, but I’m not _quite_ that careful of my dignity.”

     _Besides, Lord M says only the Tower is reserved for only the very worst in the kingdom. Remember how he told you that, after he said anyone who commented on your stature should be sent there straightaway?_

Victoria felt the smile on her face falter and shored it up just in time. Now was not the time to think about Lord Melbourne. She had to focus instead on her cousin…this young, handsome German everybody wanted her to marry. The one she was _supposed_ to fall in love with. The far more reasonable choice. 

     As opposed to her Prime Minister, that is. Her Prime Minister was _not_ a choice. 

     Even he had made _that_ quite clear last month. 

     “Ernest is always saying I am too serious,” Albert admitted, drawing her out of her thoughts.

     Victoria snorted. “And _you’re_ always saying I’m not serious enough.”

     “As a queen, perhaps…perhaps you aren’t. But now, without your hat…”

     He took a slow step towards her. Victoria felt something shift in her chest. 

     “Now,” he whispered, “I think you are just right.”

     Victoria swallowed so hard she was sure he could hear it. Albert closed the remaining distance between them, touched her windblown hair at the side of her head. She tried to look at him and found, to her consternation, that she couldn’t do it. He was so close…so warm and mysterious and utterly _breathtaking._ She’d felt the same way a few nights ago when he’d danced with far more elegance than she’d expected, and again when he tore open his shirt and slipped her gardenias close to his skin.

     _Lord M’s gardenias. From Brocket Hall…_

Albert drew his fingers back from her hair so abruptly that it startled her. His eyes flickered over her face for a second or two…and then he turned away without a word. Victoria drew a confused, shaky breath and watched him walk away, feeling strangely crushed.  

     _What did I do? He was about to kiss me, I’m sure of it…not that I’ve ever been kissed before of course, but I’ve imagined it enough times. Surely he couldn’t tell I was thinking about—_

_Oh, no. No. People can’t read minds, not like that. He can’t be angry with me on that count._

     _And yet he spends enough time angry with me. He’d probably think of some reason_. 

     Victoria gathered her skirts and hurried after him. “Albert?”

     He glanced over his shoulder but kept walking. She picked up her pace until she strode alongside him once more. 

     “I want to ask you a question,” she blurted. 

     “Very well…”

     “You don’t have to answer—or rather, you needn’t give me all the details. It’s just that every time I ask Mamma or Lehzen or Uncle Leopold, they get all close-lipped and mysterious. As if they think I’m still too young to know.” Victoria skipped a little, trying to place herself a step or two ahead of him so he’d have to look at her. “Albert…what happened to your mother?”

     Albert looked at her with a start. She hastened to clarify, not liking the look on his face.

     “I know she died when you and Ernest were very young. I don’t know _how_ , though, or…or under what circumstances. Mamma doesn’t like to talk about—”

     “She ran away from my father just before my fifth birthday. With her equerry.”

     Victoria froze. They were obvious, the emotions running through his head: his lips were tight and there was the same flicker of pain in his eyes she’d seen the other night at the dance, when he mentioned the way her flowers reminded him of his mother.

     Now she knew why Mamma and Uncle Leopold avoided the subject. Not even Lord Melbourne had mentioned it to her. Surely _he_ had known.

     _But maybe…maybe the story hits too close to home for_ him _?_

     “She died a few years later,” Albert said, resuming his walk. “I never saw her again.”

     “Oh Albert. I’m so sorry. I had no idea, really I didn’t—”

     “Why do you apologize? It wasn’t your fault.”

     Victoria shook her head. “It’s something we English say when we want to express sympathy. But I also never meant to hurt you by asking. That kind of… _treachery_ …”

     Albert cut his eyes at her. “Treachery? You think my mother ran away out of malice towards my father? What if _he_ was the cruel one? What if she felt so trapped, she would be willing to do things she’d never dream of doing otherwise…for the sake of her _freedom_?”

     Victoria blinked. Albert sighed, started to say something—but before he could, a high-pitched cry split the quiet forest air. Victoria jumped; Albert turned towards the sound. When she heard it again her heart leaped into her throat.

     “That sounds like Dash!”

     “I’ll find him,” Albert murmured, breaking into a run. Victoria tore after him. If he thought she’d simply sit here and wait from him to come back, he didn’t know her at all.

     Dash, thankfully, didn’t sound far away. They followed his repeated yelps until Albert made a beeline for one of the ancient oaks—and as soon as Victoria caught sight of the small bundle of black, brown, and white fur writhing between the tree’s roots, she forgot everything: marriage plans, her uncle’s expectations, her cousin’s childhood grief, her anxiety last night when Albert and Lord Melbourne had their not-quite-a-quarrel about _Oliver Twist_ … 

     For a moment, just a moment, she cared for nothing and nobody but her littlest friend. 

     “Dash! Oh, Dash,” she cried, dropping to her knees beside him as he tried to lick his bloodied paw. A trap lay a few feet away. “What happened?”

     “He tripped the mechanism,” Albert said. “See? He must have snatched his paw away just in time. Otherwise it would have snapped the limb in two.” He touched the injured leg and Dash squealed. Victoria’s eyes burned at the sound. Albert nodded to himself. 

     “I think the leg is broken. Hold him, Victoria.”

     Victoria sniffled and scooted closer, laying one hand on the dog’s head and the other on his 

panting stomach. “Shh, Dash, it’s all right…shh, shh…”

     Dash calmed, at least a little. Albert pulled his ever-present knife from his boot, jerked off his coat, and ripped a clean bandage from his own sleeve.

     “That’s right, hold him still,” he murmured, taking a twig from the ground and fitting it to the little leg. “Good boy, good boy…”

     Victoria watched out of the corner of her eye. He _was_ gentle when he wanted to be, then. And he didn’t seem to _hate_ Dash. Perhaps she could explain herself without feeling like a complete fool now, and without him thinking her one.  

     _It’s worth a try._

     “I know my attachment may seem foolish,” she blurted, “but when I lived at Kensington Dash was my only real friend.”

     Albert smiled a little, and not unkindly. “And now it is different?”

     “Oh, yes. I have Lord Melbourne now…and my ladies, of course.”

     Albert’s hands stilled over the knot he’d made in the torn fabric. His jaw flexed. “I wish you’d not been so much with Lord Melbourne. He is not serious.”

     Victoria touched his arm—the one without the sleeve. “He does not choose to _appear_ serious. It’s simply the English manner. But Albert, he _is_ a man of great feeling. He’s seen so much of 

the world, far more than you and I have, and he’s suffered tremendous pain. You must only get to know him a little better and you’ll realize what a kind and thoughtful man he truly is!”

     Albert said nothing. To her horror, Victoria realized she had squeezed his arm. She drew her hand back, tucked her hair behind her ear. Albert returned his knife to his boot with a snap.

     “Perhaps,” he muttered, “you should marry Lord Melbourne.”

     Victoria jerked her head up and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Albert snatched up his coat, sprang to his feet, and stormed away. Dash whimpered.

     _“Perhaps you should marry Lord Melbourne.”_

     He had no idea. No idea how close she’d come to it. No idea how much she still wanted it or how much it still hurt. And now he had the _nerve_ …

     Victoria leaped to her feet. “ _Albert!_ ” 

     He whirled so fast and with such a furious expression, she took a step back—and immediately hated herself for it. “Do you know, the day when I was in the city, do you know what I saw?! I saw a _child_ , maybe four or five years old, selling matches one at a time. Your Lord Melbourne chooses not to look at such things, but I must! We cannot close our eyes to the world around us! Of course, if _you_ wish to surround yourself with sycophants—please, go ahead. I, on the other hand, would rather see things for what they are.”

     He tried to walk away again, but Victoria shot out a hand and grabbed the bare white arm. He turned, but only because she’d dug her nails in and he had no choice.  

     “How _dare_ you?!” she hissed. “May I remind you that while _you_ were looking at paintings in Italy, _I_ was ruling this country! And yet you have been here for a few days and you assume _you_ know my people and _my_ Prime Minister better than I do!”

     Albert glared at her, his lips set in a hard line. Victoria didn’t flinch. She’d grown up in Kensington Palace under two of the hardest, most intimidating eyes in the entire kingdom. She’d learned very quickly that the way to win in a battle of wills was to never, _ever_ blink. 

     If Albert wanted a meek and mild response, he wasn’t about to get it. 

     “I do not need _you_ to tell me what to think, Albert,” she snapped.

     Albert snatched his arm from her grasp. “No. That’s Lord Melbourne’s job.”

     With that, he turned and strode away. This time, Victoria didn’t call him back. She couldn’t.

     He might as well have slapped her across the face.

 

————

 

Back at Windsor Castle, William Lamb, 2nd Viscount of Melbourne, exited the private room the Queen had designated as his “study” for the remainder of his time at Windsor Castle. As soon as he heard the door thud behind him he released the breath he felt he’d been holding ever since Lord Alfred Paget and Prince Ernest returned _without_ the Queen…and Prince Albert. 

     _Unchaperoned—unless you count Dash_ , Melbourne thought wryly. _Make sure you’re the last to ever voice an objection. You’ve been unchaperoned with the Queen yourself enough times. Best not to be the pot that calls the kettle black._

Sardonic humor. It was a good defense. Always had been. 

     Melbourne shut the door firmly and walked with deliberate strides down the rather rustic corridor. Windsor Castle was so old that even Henry VIII lived here with nearly all his wives (at separate times, of course). Its rooms overflowed with the rich, poignant history Melbourne had loved ever since he was a boy. 

     How fitting it would be if Queen Victoria asked Prince Albert to marry her _here_ , at the throbbing heart of England’s history.

     _And it would be absolutely_ right _of her to do so. You saw the way they looked at each other last night all through dinner. If she’s truly falling in love with him, then it’s_ good _, it’s_ right _—_ _and England’s future will be brighter than ever._

 _If_ you _are heartsick about it, you have no one to blame but yourself._

Melbourne released a measured sigh and glanced through a nearby window’s diamond-shaped panes. The past few days had proved unseasonably warm; from this height he could see brave little spears of emerald-green grass trying to maintain their hold over the frost-bitten castle grounds. Victoria had pointed them out to him yesterday after they arrived from London. She’d just sprung out of her carriage and let Dash scamper loose when she’d turned to him with bright, shining eyes. 

     “Autumn is here, Lord M!” she’d cried, hurrying to him and stopping just short of grabbing his hands. “Can’t you smell it in the air? It’s all so crisp…and look at the leaves!”

     “The air is certainly fresher here than in London,” he’d conceded, unable to smother a grin at her enthusiasm. “Although I think you’ll find that’s the case with _any_ air outside of London.” 

     “Oh, no doubt. But look…I do believe the grass really _is_ greener on the other side!”

     With that she’d pointed at the vibrant colors of the castle green, laughing at her own joke. Her unbridled exuberance had been more a relief to Melbourne than any fresher atmosphere. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that since the Coburg princes arrived from Germany.

     Their merriment had been short-lived, though. King Leopold and his nephews rode up a few minutes later and Victoria once again became the hesitant, self-doubting young woman Melbourne had watched her disintegrate into over the past few days. His thoughtful frown turned hard at the memory. 

     _If you weren’t so…involved…do you think you’d care so much?_

Melbourne scowled, chastising himself immediately for the self-condemning thought—but he was at the drawing room door now. He paused, made sure to clear any trace of exasperation or concern from his face before he entered. Now was not the time to exasperate the royal family. 

     Sure enough, the room was full. King Leopold of Belgium and the Duchess of Kent sat at the table, playing a game of chess. To Melbourne’s surprise, the Duchess had captured most of her brother’s pieces. Emma Portman and Baroness Lehzen sat on the settee with their embroidery; Harriet Sutherland and Prince Ernest (ostensibly) pored over a huge atlas on the other side of the room. Leopold noticed his presence first, fixing the Prime Minister with one of his false smiles. 

     “Ah, Lord Melbourne. Have you come to witness my defeat at the hand of my sister?”

     “I’m afraid not, Your Majesty,” Melbourne replied, bowing slightly and making a gesture towards Emma and Lehzen. “Simply thought I’d seek out some more pleasant company than my own.”

     “Ah. Well, perhaps the two of us might play a game ourselves once my sister is finished decimating my forces.”

     The idea of playing chess with Leopold and suffering through Heaven-knew-how-many-minutes of the man’s thinly-veiled, acerbic allusions to Melbourne’s relationship with Victoria—God help him, but it was enough to make Melbourne blurt out an outrageous lie.  

     “Pray forgive me, Your Majesty, but I’m exceptionally bad at chess. If you’ll excuse me.” 

     With that, he strode quickly towards the settee. Emma Portman eyed him as he sank into the armchair next to her end of the sofa and grabbed one of the volumes on the low, oval table in front of both. She drew her needle out of her fabric and raised her thin eyebrows as he opened the book and scowled at the title.

“You’re a terrible liar, William,” Emma whispered. 

     “And I would rather be struck dead for it than agree to a game with _that_ man,” he muttered. 

     Lehzen pursed her lips, but when Melbourne glanced at her it looked like she was trying to hold back a smile rather than a disapproving grimace. He leaned back in his chair, crossed one knee over the other, and flipped through the book’s crisp pages. 

     “I believe it’s the Queen’s copy,” Emma remarked. “She was in here this morning skimming through the pages.”

     “Hmm.” Melbourne studied the opening of the book’s second chapter and read aloud. “ _‘For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a systematic course of treachery and deception. He was brought up by hand. The hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported by the workhouse authorities to the parish authorities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then domiciled in ‘the house’ who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist, the consolation and nourishment of which he stood in need. The workhouse authorities replied with humility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish authorities magnanimously and humanely resolved, that Oliver should be ‘farmed,’ or, in other words, that he should be dispatched to a branch-workhouse some three miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much food or too much clothing, under the parental superintendence of an elderly female, who received the culprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week.’_ ”

     “It seems to me Mr. Dickens shares your sense of the ridiculous, William,” Emma said. 

     “It seems to me,” Melbourne retorted, “as if Mr. Dickens is very well-informed.”

     Lehzen lifted her gaze, sharp and curious. “Then you _don’t_ deny the situation he describes?”

     Melbourne shut the book with a sharp _thud_ of the cover _._ “Of _course_ I don’t. And that certainly wasn’t the impression I meant to give yesterday evening! All I meant by what I said is that I am _steeped_ in these situations day and night. I’m well aware of the abuses—but I’m also aware that reforming workhouses, factories, and tenant farms owned by this or that duke or earl isn’t something that can be accomplished in a fortnight!” 

     “William, shh,” Emma whispered, nodding over his head. Melbourne glanced over his shoulder—but to his relief Leopold and the Duchess were still engrossed in their game; they hadn’t heard his half-whispered rant. Lehzen, however, still watched him with a slight frown, pulling her needle and thread with such deft confidence that she didn’t even have to look at it. He wondered if that was how she’d communicated her disapproval to a much younger Victoria years ago: simply by a stern, disappointed look that was neither harsh nor indulgent. He sighed wearily and set the volume back on the table. 

     “Forgive me, Baroness,” he said softly. “I fear I haven’t stopped thinking about that conversation with Prince Albert last night. My irritation isn’t directed towards you, I can assure you of that.”

     Lehzen raised her eyebrows, shot a glance at Leopold. “It is directed at the prince, then?”

     Emma’s keen eyes darted between the baroness and the Prime Minister. _Careful, William_ , they seemed to say. Melbourne understood. He could neither risk Leopold overhearing his actual opinions, nor say anything derogatory about Albert that Lehzen might repeat back to Victoria. Impartiality and the middle ground had always been his specialty. He wouldn’t deviate now, not even to sway Victoria’s opinion of her cousin. 

     _I can’t. I don’t dare. Too much depends on it…on_ her…

“My frustration,” he said carefully, “is with a system so entrenched in tradition that it dismiss-es _every_ call for reform outright. But I’m no less exasperated with reckless characters who crow about the abolition of this or that injustice without offering any practical solutions for the people who’ve suffered under those cruelties. The answer lies somewhere in between, yet I have _no_ idea what it looks like.”

     Emma sighed. “How do you safely release a wolf when you already have it by the ears?”

     “Exactly.” Melbourne rubbed his forehead and chuckled. “What do you say to my resigning, Emma, and you taking my place?”

     She cut her eyes at him—but before she could make one of her withering retorts he heard the Duchess give a startled cry. Melbourne glanced around the side of his chair…and sprang to his feet. 

     Albert stood in the doorway, looking as though he’d been trying to sneak past without anyone noticing him. His coat was rumpled, his hair more disheveled than ever, his boots covered in mud. The Duchess of Kent was on her feet, a hand at her chest. Leopold rose slowly out of his chair. Everything had gone dead-quiet; even Harriet and Prince Ernest were silent.

     “Albert?” Leopold called warily. “Where is Victoria?”

     Albert said nothing, his gaze darting off to the side. Melbourne felt something tighten in the center of his gut. 

     “Did the Queen come back with you, Your Highness?” he asked.

     At that, Albert looked up. His dark eyes sparked with something that could only be resentment as they locked on the Prime Minister. 

     “No, she didn’t,” he said, his German accent even more clipped than usual. “We quarreled and …and I decided to come back alone.”

     “You left her in the forest?!” the Duchess cried. “Oh, but she’s on horseback of course. Drina knows her way back…doesn’t she?”

     Subtle realization and then discomfort slipped into Albert’s sullen face. Melbourne clenched the back of his chair.

     “Is the Queen hurt, Prince Albert?” he demanded, his voice sharp. 

     “ _No_ ,” Albert barked—then glanced at his uncle and deflated. “But…the dog is. The foresters here should be ashamed, leaving those traps out where any bird, dog, or cat might be caught and have to suffer miserably—” 

     “Oh, _mein Gott_ ,” Lehzen gasped. 

     “Albert, for God’s sake!” Ernest cried on the other side of the room.

     Melbourne heard a rustle of material, but didn’t turn to see if it was the baroness or Emma. He couldn’t take his eyes off the slender, handsome German prince who just stood there trying to hold onto the fraying threads of his self-righteous indignation. The Duchess whirled, the large blue eyes her daughter had inherited shot through with panic and fixing first on her brother, then—surprisingly—on Melbourne. 

     “Somebody must go and find her,” she begged. “If Dash is hurt, Drina will stop at nothing to care for him before herself…”

     “I’m on my way,” Melbourne muttered. 

     “My Lord Melbourne, I must protest—” Leopold began. 

     Melbourne stopped in front of the King and narrowed his eyes. “I would advise against that, Your Majesty—unless _you_ care to venture into the forest yourself.”

     Leopold blinked, shut his mouth. Melbourne resumed his march to the door, but stopped one more time when he reached Albert. Everything in him wanted to grab the young prince by his coat collar and _shake_ him— _because you left her, you left her behind, you left that precious,_ precious _girl in the forest with nobody but her injured dog…_

Somehow he managed to keep his hands off Albert, but he did look the young man in the eye. And Albert looked right back. 

     “You talk of _traps_?” Melbourne hissed. “It seems to me, You’re Highness, you’re far more interested in being _right_ than in being _good_. And that won’t get you far in this world. Of that, I can assure you.”

     Albert blinked. Melbourne didn’t give him a chance to fight back. He stormed past the prince, calculating how long it would take him to get his coat, commandeer a horse from the stable, and reach the forest before the sun started setting and the temperature began to drop. 

     

 


	2. Chapter 2

When she realized Albert had no intention of turning around and coming back, Victoria quickly unbuttoned her riding jacket and got on her knees again beside Dash. Her little dog still lay on his side, whimpering and breathing fast. Victoria spread the jacket out and stroked Dash’s head.

     “It’s all right, darling,” she whispered. “I’m going to get you home, I promise.”

     Dash swallowed, his dark eyes wide with pain and terror as he resumed panting. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hands.

     “This is fine,” she whispered. “I can do this. I am Victoria, by the grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen, Defender of the Faith…I _can_ do this.”

     But she couldn’t. She squeezed her eyes even tighter and dug her nails into her palms, trying to keep back the sobs that threatened to break out of her and make her a completely useless, snivelling idiot right here in the middle the forest. She opened her eyes with a gasp—she’d been holding her breath—and looked around. 

     Nobody in sight. It was probably four o’clock in the afternoon by now. It’d be a while before Albert got back to the castle and everyone realized she was still out here. Victoria blinked back tears and looked up at the sky. The glare of the sun on thick white clouds had faded; the clouds to the north had turned an ominous grey-blue. 

     _I_ have _to do this. I have to pick him up. I have to get him home, otherwise we’re both going to be drenched…and if I don’t get him to a veterinarian he might—_

 _No. Don’t even_ think _about that._

Victoria gritted her teeth. She pulled in a breath, tucked her straggling hair behind her ears…and slipped her hands underneath Dash’s tiny body. 

     He whimpered, and when she actually lifted him he gave an ear-piercing yelp. If she had been any less accustomed to him she might’ve dropped him, but instead she simply curved her body over him and hurried to lay him down on the smooth white lining of her jacket. Quickly, she wrapped the folds around him, set her teeth again, and lifted him. Dash yelped and squirmed—but Victoria clasped him against her as if she were cradling a baby and he quieted. His splinted leg dragged against her collarbone. Victoria tossed a strand of hair out of her eyes. 

     “Right, Dash,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Let’s go home.”

     Dash responded by swiping his tongue over his own nose. Moving carefully so she didn’t trip over her own skirts, Victoria made her way down the hill. 

     Within moments she stopped short. She and Albert had run so far off the path and she hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings…but she did remember that fallen branch there, she’d nearly tripped over it…and those birches, she’d caught a glimpse of _them_ out of the corner of her eye. Shifting Dash’s weight to the crook of one arm, she lifted her skirts, stepped over the branch, and struggled up another upward, grassy slope. 

     “If your mamma had just kept her mouth shut,” she said aloud, “we might not be in this kind of trouble, Dash.”

     He stared up at her with wide, soulful eyes. Victoria fought her way up the slope and gasped in relief at the top. The forest path lay before her…and there was her horse Diamond, tied to a tree. Albert’s chestnut gelding was gone. The mare turned her great white head towards her mistress and submitted to her reins being untied and being led, on foot, back towards the castle. 

     “Look at us!” Victoria cried. “The Queen and her two most devoted subjects. We make a fine trio, don’t we?”

     She laughed—but even to her own ears the sound rang hollow, echoing lonesomely in the forest. Dash was small but portly, and her shoulder began to ache from his weight. Her thoughts started to wander, too, treading on ground she didn’t really want to visit. 

     “Dash? Do you really think I’m…heartless?”

     Dash, of course, said nothing. Victoria pursed her lips to keep back a wry smile. 

     “It’s a good thing we’re alone—otherwise Uncle Cumberland might think he finally had good reason to declare me insane.” She sidestepped a puddle too late to avoid dragging part of her hem through the water and wrapped Ariel’s reins tighter around her left hand. “I’m _not_ heartless. I know good and well there are people—children, even—among my subjects who don’t have anything like the same privileges I do. Albert is an insufferable prig if he thinks I’m not aware of it!”

     Diamond nickered. Victoria smirked again. This was better than playing dolls as a child. 

     “Well, I’m glad you agree, Your Ladyship. But what if I really _am_ no better than a Tory? What if…what if I am aware of the suffering…but unwilling to lift a finger to ease it? How does that make me any better than the people who just cast poor Oliver Twist to the side like an unwanted piece of baggage?”

     Dash squirmed; Victoria repositioned him against her, stroking the curve of his body with her thumb and shushing him until he quieted.  

     “Do I really chose not to see?” she whispered. “And if he’s right about _that_ , what if he’s right about Lord M?”

     For that, neither Dash nor Diamond had any counsel. Victoria pressed her lips together and threw her head back, narrowing her eyes against a sudden breeze and, she hated to admit, more of the telltale stinging sensation that meant she was about to cry. The thought of ripping Lord Melbourne out of her life just to please _Albert_ …of saying goodbye to her dearest friend, the man who knew her better than anybody, better than even _Lehzen_ , because there were things she’d told him that she’d never told anyone else…

     The man she loved. The only man she’d ever had the courage to propose to. The only companion she still desired with all her heart. 

     _I do still love him, don’t I? Even Albert sees it—_ Albert _, who’s been with me for all of a week…_ he _knows._

_He’ll never be able to love me, knowing that. And I could never love him like I ought._

_But Uncle Leopold will want me to. “For the good of Europe.” More, I imagine, for the good of the Coburgs! Because after all, the Queen of England can’t be trusted to marry the right man on her own. The Queen of England is a foolish, stupid girl head over heels in love with her Prime Minister. She’ll_ have _to give him up…just like she’s been expected to give up anyone else who ever stood up for her at some point or another._

     Victoria set her teeth and narrowed her eyes until they were two blue slits in her face. Mamma and Sir John had tried for years to get rid of Lehzen—and they’d failed. Sir Robert Peel had tried to get rid of Emma and Harriet—and he’d failed, too. 

     If Uncle Leopold wanted her to get rid of Lord Melbourne, there was only one way he’d ever succeed. 

     “Over my cold dead body,” she hissed to nobody in particular. “Over my _cold—dead—body._ ”

 

————

 

He hadn’t ridden this hard in years. Probably not since he was a newlywed at Brocket Hall and Caro challenged him to a race through the grounds that ended with the two of them off their horses and kissing wildly in the summer grass. 

     Scratch that. He hadn’t ridden this hard since the night he made her tell him about Byron. She had screamed at him, thrown a vase against the wall, then flung herself on a sofa and sobbed like she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. He’d rushed out, blind with horror and rage and grief—emotions he’d never, ever felt so intensely and hoped he never would again—and he’d ridden hard through the night until he’d finally dismounted at the very edge of the estate, too weary to _feel_ anymore.

     Thunder rumbled. Melbourne pulled his horse to a stop and looked around. Trees and bracken surrounded him as far as the eye could see; brown leaves littered the forest path. A drop of rain splattered on the sleeve of his overcoat, then another. 

     “Your Majesty!” he shouted. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

     Nothing. Lord Alfred had managed to interrogate Prince Albert a bit, and the prince had said he and the Queen were on this particular road…but how far down it, he couldn’t remember. For all Melbourne knew, Victoria was still where Albert had left her. If she couldn’t move Dash, she wouldn’t leave him.

     _But she’d probably still rather make the attempt and nearly kill herself than sit there and do nothing. She’s nothing if not tenacious._

Three more raindrops beat down on the top of his hat, followed by an unsettingly consistent and strengthening patter on the forest undergrowth. Melbourne tightened his grip on the reins and spurred his horse forward, easing back into a gallop and hoping she’d be just around this bend, just down this last stretch.

     When he finally saw her, he jerked the reins so hard his horse whinnied in surprise. 

     She was still several yards away, leading her horse by the reins with one hand and cradling a solid bundle, wrapped in what looked like her riding jacket, in the other arm. Her damp, unbound hair hung down her back; the white blouse she’d worn underneath her jacket clung to her skin; her muddy skirts dragged around her feet. She was pale, her shoulders slumped, and she moved with the agonizing slowness of utter exhaustion. 

     But she was here, she was safe… _and oh, she’s beautiful_ , he thought as she suddenly lifted her head. Victoria’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open as Melbourne swung himself out of his saddle and ran to her, stubbornly ignoring the dull ache in one knee that reminded him he was no _young_ man coming to rescue his fair lady. 

     “Ma’am? Ma’am, are you all right?”

     “Yes,” Victoria gasped, staggering to meet him. “Yes, I’m all right, but Dash—”

     “Let me see him.” Melbourne pulled back the jacket she’d arranged to cover Dash’s face from the rain. “The leg’s in a splint. Did you—”

     “No. Albert did.” Victoria paused, lowered her voice to a awed whisper. “ _You_ came for me.”

     He couldn’t help it: he stopped examining Dash and looked at her instead. She stared at him with wondering eyes, shivering from the cold and wet, her pale lips slightly parted, her teeth chattering—and everything in him wanted to do what he would’ve done only a month ago at Brocket Hall if he hadn’t been so principled. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her close, and kiss her breathless. 

     Dash, however, chose that particular moment to let out a long, sad whine. Melbourne forced himself to break eye contact with Victoria and ran his hand over the little dog’s head.

     “Let me go back and get my horse,” he murmured, “and I’ll escort you back to the castle.”

     Victoria shook her head vigorously. “No. I don’t think I can ride _and_ hold Dash.”

     Melbourne heard another growl of thunder, much louder this time. The sky looked dangerous now. “Then you’ll ride with me. We’ll tie Diamond’s reins to my saddle. But first…”

     He jerked his arms out of his overcoat; Victoria started to argue, but he shot her a stern look and she snapped her mouth shut. He held Dash long enough for her to slide her much smaller arms through the sleeves, then nestled the dog back into her arms and clasped the button at her throat. 

     When his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, Victoria shivered. Melbourne hesitated. Slowly, watching for any indication that she wanted him to stop, he reached up and cupped her face in his palms. 

     Victoria said nothing. Her eyes widened, though, and he saw it right there in her face. 

     _Hope._

     And the realization hit him hard in the gut: _But_ you _can’t give it to her. You can’t afford to._

     “I’ll go get the horse,” he rasped. “I’ll be right back.”

     Victoria nodded meekly between his hands. Longing tugged; duty ripped. Melbourne tore his gaze from hers, dropped his hands from her face, and turned away.

     _Never let her see how hard it is to bear, Melbourne. Never,_ ever _let her see._

 

_————_

 

Lord Melbourne let her mount first while he held Dash. The sky was worryingly dark now and the saddle was slick under her hands, but Victoria thrust her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up without difficulty. Her skirts, thankfully, were wide enough that they didn’t pull up much higher than her lower shins, but the thought of _him_ seeing her feet and ankles mortified her. 

     _You don’t have a choice_. _It’s either this, or you ride sidesaddle while_ he _holds Dash._

Lord Melbourne, however, acted as if he hadn’t even noticed the flash of her stockinged legs. He handed Dash to her, tied Diamond's reins to his saddle, and finally swung up behind Victoria. She tried not to sit too straight and stiff as he wrapped his arms loosely around her and grabbed his own reins. 

     “Hold on tight, Ma’am,” he said, giving the horse a swift kick.

     Victoria frowned, glanced over her shoulder at him. His voice was calm and reassuring again—not at all hoarse, and well above his raw whisper from a few moments ago. He met her gaze and then fixed it firmly ahead on the forest path. 

     “Did you almost kiss me?” she blurted. 

     His jaw flexed. She cringed at another roll of thunder, much closer this time. Dash wailed. Lord Melbourne delivered a firmer kick to his horse’s flank and they broke into a canter. 

     “I don’t think that’s a question you want answered, Ma’am,” he said.

     Victoria started to argue, only to spin her head around and tighten her knees at a furious roar of thunder. They rounded a muddy bend and a new burst of hard, cold rain immediately pelted her face, trying to penetrate the coat. 

     “Did Albert tell you what happened?” she shouted. 

     “Only that you quarreled.” There was a pause, then, “I expected you to return to the castle an engaged couple, Ma’am. Everybody was considerably startled when the prince returned alone.”

     Victoria yelped and ducked her head as a flash of lightning tore the sky in front of them. She felt Lord Melbourne tighten his arms around her. Dash squirmed and she held him even closer.

     “Dash, no! He’s fighting me—!”

     “Hold tight, we’re nearly there.” 

     The wind tore, howling, through the creaking trees. Victoria’s heart pounded as horrible scenarios rushed through her head—her losing her grip on Dash, one of the horses slipping in the mud—but Lord Melbourne gave no indication of alarm. Only the grim set of his face told how desperate he was to get back to the castle. 

     She had just caught a glimpse of its grey stone wall when something small and icy struck the top of her head. She cried out; the horses skidded to a stop. Lord Melbourne swung off and all but jerked her out of the saddle. As soon as her feet touched the ground she realized how much her legs ached from walking through the forest for so long. Her knees felt wobbly.

     “Run!” he shouted, waving her forward. “I’ll see to the horses—you get inside! _Hurry!_ ”

     Victoria didn’t dare disobey; the hailstones fell hard and fast now, and she curled herself over Dash as another struck her where her hair parted down the middle of her head. The stable boys and Lord Melbourne called frantically to each other over the rain about mud and hooves—a door flew open—firelight streamed out and into the storm—someone shouted her name up ahead—warm, bony hands seized her by the arm—somebody snatched her precious little bundle out of her arms— 

     “ _Dash!_ ” Victoria wailed. 

     “It’s all right, _liebchen_ , it’s all right! Prince Ernest is taking him to the veterinarian!” 

     _Lehzen?_ Victoria looked up with a start as her former governess dragged her beneath the protection of the archway, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and led her into the castle. Up ahead, Albert’s kindly brother hurried away with Dash cradled in his arms. 

     “H-his leg is b-broken,” Victoria stammered, her teeth chattering. “It’s in a splint b-but—we were riding so hard, t-trying to outrun the rain—”

     “I know, he’ll be all right, shhh, _liebchen_ …”

     “Drina! Drina, are you all right?”

     Mamma snatched her out of Lehzen’s embrace and nearly crushed her. Victoria let out a startled “Oof!”—but oh, her mother was so warm and _dry_ …

     “Oh Drina,” Mamma whispered, stroking her sopping hair. “Drina, I was so worried…”

     Victoria struggled upright, wiping her face. “I’m soaked through, Mamma—you’ll get yourself wet if you hug me so tightly. No no, it’s all right, I-I’m fine…”

     “Don’t be ridiculous—you are _not_ fine!” Mamma cried, her fingers flying over the buttons of Lord Melbourne’s coat. “Quickly, quickly, by the fire before you catch your death!”

     She grabbed Victoria’s shoulders and spun her towards a nearby blazing hearth; Lehzen took the coat and rushed off with it; Harriet Sutherland and Emma Portman suddenly materialized, the former throwing a blanket over Victoria’s shoulders while the latter thrust a warm mug into her hands and met Victoria’s anxious gaze with a knowing, reassuring look. 

     “It’s all right,” Emma whispered. “He’s coming, he’s just seeing to the horses.”

     Victoria nodded dully and sipped the tea, only to whirl as soon as she heard the door slam and Lord Melbourne came in. He looked just as wet, tired, and cold as she suspected she herself did—and yet he moved straight towards her. 

     “Ma’am, are you all right?” he asked. Victoria nodded and reached for his hand, but another voice broke into the din before she could do much more than brush his fingers with her own. 

     “Ah, _Veectoria_! I am so relieved to see you unharmed!”

     She stiffened, tearing her gaze reluctantly from Lord Melbourne to her uncle…and to Albert. Her cousin walked just behind a smiling Uncle Leopold, his eyes fixed sullenly on her from his downward-tilted head. 

     “Now that your tempers have had a brief but healthy outlet,” Uncle Leopold said, “perhaps the two of you might like to speak together alone? I’m sure you have much to discuss.”

     Victoria glanced at Lord Melbourne. He looked back at her…and then away. 

     Honestly. If he thought that by looking away he could distance himself from her or make her forget what had happened in the forest, then he was being nonsensical. All of a sudden Victoria remembered very well the way his warm hands had felt against her cheeks…the way he’d come so, so close to kissing her…

     _Albert almost kissed me, too. Twice in a day, I’ve nearly had my first kiss and been foiled!_

 _But I have a feeling their reasons for_ not _kissing me were very, very different._

“Thank you, Uncle,” she said firmly, “but Albert and I have nothing to discuss.”

     Lord Melbourne glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Uncle Leopold’s maddening smile broadened. “Ach, don’t be a silly girl! It might be good for you both to…clear the air, as you English say—“

     “The air is perfectly clear where I’m standing,” Victoria snapped. “And I won’t waste time on a pointless discussion when I could be changing out of these soaked clothes. Clothes that would not have been soaked in the first place, may I point out, if Albert had been gentleman enough to at least escort me home…quarrel or no quarrel.”

     With that, she handed the mug to Emma and lifted her sodden skirts. Lehzen, Harriet, Emma, and Mamma all moved to follow her—until Victoria stopped just in front of Lord Melbourne. They froze behind her while she tipped her head back and looked him in the eye.

     “ _Thank you_ , Lord M,” she said, loud and clear so everyone could hear. “For everything.”

     Lord Melbourne met her gaze. “It was my honor, Ma’am,” he murmured. 

     Victoria nodded, then stood on tiptoe and put her hands on his shoulders. She lost her nerve at the last minute—she couldn’t kiss him the way he _ought_ to be kissed, not here in front of Mamma _and_ Lehzen—so instead she pressed her lips to his cheek. When she dropped back to her heels, he stared at her in mute astonishment. Victoria bit her lip, the hot, fierce color rising in her face, and whirled before she embarrassed them both. 

     At least there’d be no doubt in anyone’s mind who she still preferred…and who she didn’t. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

A heavy silence hung over the room as Victoria rushed upstairs, followed by the Duchess and her ladies. Emma shot Melbourne a sympathetic as well as apologetic look and probably would’ve squeezed his hand as she passed him, too, if they weren’t under the watchful eye of Leopold and both his nephews. 

     Alone in a room with _those_ three men after such a display as Victoria just gave everyone was _not_ an experience Melbourne had ever imagined for himself. Thankfully, just as Leopold started to speak, he shivered violently. He hadn’t realized how chilled the cold, heavy rain left him.  

     “If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty,” he mumbled, gesturing towards the stairs, “I think I’ll go and change into something warm myself.”

     “Quite understandable—but I believe you _can_ spare me a moment,” Leopold said sternly, fixing himself almost (but not quite) in front of Melbourne. “My niece seems unusually high-spirited, far more so than I expected her to be after such an adventure.”

     “Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Melbourne retorted, too cold and tired to keep the acid out of his voice. “The Queen is an indomitable woman. _I_ could’ve told you a mad dash through a hailstorm wouldn’t be enough to break down _her_ courage.”

     Behind his uncle, Prince Ernest smirked; Prince Albert, however, made an irritable sound and stalked towards the fire. Melbourne ignored him and kept his narrowed eyes on the bristling Leopold. 

     “I have warned you, Lord Melbourne,” the King muttered. “I’ve seen the way my niece looks at you and those looks have not ceased, even with the arrival of my nephews. Now you must put a stop to this once and for all, even if it requires your resignation—”

     “Your Majesty, you are King of the Belgians, _not_ of the English,” Melbourne snapped, “and I take my orders from the House and from _my_ Queen, _not_ you. And as far as I can tell, I was the only man in this entire castle willing to venture out into the storm to find her—so you’ll forgive me if I’m not too keen at the moment to take your _threats_ seriously.”

     Leopold took a step back, his eyes widening in surprise. Melbourne snatched his wet coat off the chair where the Duchess of Kent had thrown it and slung it over his arm. He paused, glared at Prince Albert’s back. 

     “You set the dog’s leg well, Your Highness,” he said gruffly. “A pity you weren’t as solicitous about the Queen’s well-being.”

     The prince began to turn, but Melbourne didn’t wait to get his full reaction. Without another glance at Leopold, he stormed towards the staircase and took the steps two at a time. By the time he got to the top his heart pounded, but it was less from the exertion than from a hot, bitter anger the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years.

 

————

 

He stayed in his quarters on the other side of the castle from the Queen’s for the remainder of the evening. It took an hour of sitting in front of the fire in his room, wrapped in his dressing gown, before he felt warmed through; it took another hour before the nervous tension subsided and he didn’t feel like throwing things into the flames. His mind went back over everything that had happened over the course of the afternoon, from Albert’s ominous return to the sight of Victoria in the forest, drenched and desperate and so, so beautiful…

     _I nearly did it. I nearly kissed her, and she knew it._

_Oh, how I wanted to._

Melbourne leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, miserable with the undeniable truth. This way was madness, no question about it—but he was in love with his Queen…Victoria…his sweet, headstrong, darling girl…and maybe Leopold was right…maybe it _was_ time to play a bad game of political chess and engineer a situation where the Tories could gain the upper hand and force him out of power…

     _For what? So Victoria can marry a man she doesn’t love?_

_It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love him. You know that. She_ has _to marry._

_Yes—and I lost Caro to Byron and Caroline Norton to a malicious brute of a man, and I’ll be hanged before I see_ her _go to a man who doesn’t value her as he should!_

“William?”

     He sat up with a start and peered around the side of his chair. Emma stood half-in, half-out of the room, maintaining some form of propriety by not stepping in all the way. Her sharp features were drawn with worry. 

     “Are you all right?” she asked. 

     “Oh yes, quite. I’m warm, at least.”

     She raised an eyebrow. “The veterinarian has seen to Dash’s leg. He’s put it in a plaster cast and says that if the Queen is a careful nurse, he should retain the use of it.”

     “Ah, good. And the Queen?”

     “Looking not much different than you. Warm…but troubled.”

     Melbourne smiled tiredly. “You never miss much, do you, Emma?”

     She returned the look and drummed her fingers on the door. “It’s part of my job, William. And I’ve seen enough to know that that kiss on your cheek wasn’t merely to spite her uncle…or the prince.”

     “Oh, I’m well aware of _that_. Which is why I think it’s probably best if I just…stay in here for the evening. Or go back to London. Whichever I decide is best.”

     “I wouldn’t go back to London,” Emma said softly. “For one, the Queen would be beside herself. She needs you here, William, if only to give her confidence. And for another…I don’t think it would look well.”

     He frowned. “Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, Emma. I’ve never been afraid to run away from trouble when I see it coming.”

     “True. But perhaps the Queen needs you to stand your ground and fight for her this time.”

     Melbourne said nothing. Emma gave him a small, sad, sympathetic smile.

     “I’ll have your supper sent up to you,” she murmured. “And by the by…the Duchess of Kent sends you her thanks. She asked me to tell you.”

     _That’s a novelty_. Melbourne, however, was too weary and pensive now to response with anything more than a slow nod. Emma left, and he was once more alone with his thoughts. 

     At some point he realized it still rained heavily, perhaps because with the dark of evening he noticed the lightning flashing through the windowpane. He tried to read the day’s paper while he ate the meal Emma sent up, but found he couldn’t really focus on its contents or the food, not when he kept returning to the memory of his Queen gazing up at him so hopefully as he cradled her face in his hands. In the end he went back to sitting still and pensive in front of the fire, trying to punish himself by going over, for the millionth time, all the reasons why he couldn’t give her what they both wanted. 

     _You’re a viscount, not a royal._

_You’re her Prime Minister. The Constitution wouldn’t allow it._

_The Privy Council wouldn’t allow it._

_Your past is far from lily-white. She is an innocent, pure as the wind-driven snow._

_She is_ barely _a woman and you…you’re old enough to be her father._

_You’ve been a father before, but that doesn’t mean you can make her a mother._

_And the only proof you have that you_ can _father a child was…_  

     _Augustus._

Augustus _._ His beautiful, innocent boy who died in his arms…the child who loved everybody, who cried for his mother in the night, who clung to his father’s hand during the epiplectic fits that eventually killed him. The child everybody, even Caro, wanted to see in an institution. 

     Augustus would’ve loved Victoria. And she would’ve loved him—of that, Melbourne had no doubt. Perhaps she would’ve brought Dash to see him…sketched his portrait on a whim…stroked his dark curls, cradled his small hands in her own, sat with his father through the breathless panic of waiting for the fits to end—

     Melbourne stopped before the pricking in his eyes could get too painful. There was no point in dwelling on what could never be. Augustus was dead, had been for four years now, and Vic-toria was the Queen of England, the most eligible woman in Europe. 

     And _he_ , William Lamb, was not in the running for her hand. 

     Not even if _she_ still desperately wanted him to be.  

 

————

 

Dash whimpered pitifully in his basket in front of the fire. Victoria lifted her head off the pillow she’d tossed on the floor next to him, blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and stretched out her hand. 

     “Shh, darling,” she whispered. “Shh, it’s all right, I’m here.”

     Dash gave her fingers a fretful lick and went back to crying. Victoria groaned and sat up, rubbing her face as the clock on the mantlepiece began to sing. 

     _Twelve o’clock. Oh dear. It’s going to be a very long night._

“Oh, what is it?” she crooned, carefully scooping her dog out of his basket and into her arms. “Does it hurt, sweet Dash? Shh, shh…”

     Dash flopped in her lap and whimpered. The veterinarian’s cast kept his leg immobilized, but the veterinarian had also warned her he’d be in considerable pain for several days. For a spaniel who’d never had anything worse than a thorn in his paw, it was a miserable situation. Victoria gritted her teeth, hating whoever invented such a horrid thing as steel-mouthed traps. From now on there’d only be snares within royal grounds. At least _those_ killed their prey quickly. The animal didn’t have to suffer. 

     _No doubt Albert would be shocked by my compassion, since he doesn’t seem to think I have any._

An angry lump rose in her throat. Moving slowly so she didn’t trip over her nightgown, Victoria stood and cradled Dash more closely, trying to calm him. She tried swaying, singing, whispering to him—but the moment she sat or stood still he grew restless. The minute hands crept on to half-past. Desperate and exhausted, Victoria finally moved to the door, twisted the knob with a clumsy turn of her fingers, and peered into the sitting room outside. 

     To her disappointment, the room was empty. Mamma, Lehzen, Emma, and Harriet must have gone to bed long ago. Everything was quiet and dark except for the splatter of rain against the windows and an occasional flash of lightning. Undeterred and hating the idea of staying in her oppressive room a moment longer, Victoria ventured into the castle’s dark, chilly corridors. She had no real destination in mind; she simply maintained a slow, steady stride, whispering to Dash and rubbing his belly in the hopes that he’d drift off to sleep. 

     She was a good ten minutes from her quarters when he finally stopped panting. When he gave a tired little sigh and leaned his head against her arm, she slumped in relief. She started to turn around, very smoothly so she wouldn’t disturb him—

     And realized that firelight glowed from the open door of the library a few yards ahead. Curious, Victoria tiptoed forward. If Uncle Leopold was in there, she thought, she’d hurry away as fast as she could. She’d rather sit outside in the rain than give him the opportunity to lecture her.

     But when she peeked around the edge of the doorframe she froze. Lord Melbourne, not Uncle Leopold, stood in front of the crackling hearth. He held a huge book in one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with the other in a distracted, pensive way she easily recognized— _and he was in his dressing gown._

     A disheveled, breathless Albert running through the forest couldn’t hold a candle to _this_. 

     He turned a page. At the sound of crinkling paper, Dash popped his head up and whimpered. Lord Melbourne looked up, his grey-green eyes sharp with surprise. Victoria jumped back and pressed her back against the wall in a sudden and irrational urge to flee. 

     “Who’s there?” he called warily. 

     _No hiding now_. Victoria swallowed hard and stepped fully into the light. Lord Melbourne’s mouth fell open. He shut the book with a thud. 

     “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “It’s after midnight!”

     “I know. But he’s in such pain, and he wouldn’t calm down until I walked with him…” 

     As if on cue Dash began wriggling fiercely. Victoria tried to shush him and bounced on her heels. Lord Melbourne set the book onto the mantlepiece and stepped closer. 

     “Here…let me take him. You look exhausted.”

     Victoria didn’t protest; her shoulders ached from Dash’s weight and her eyes stung with frustrated tears. Lord Melbourne scooped Dash out of her arms and held him close, swaying and shushing as easily as if Dash were a human baby.

     “There, there,” he murmured. “It’s all right, little man…it’s all right…”

     Victoria sank onto the nearby sofa. “The veterinarian said he’d be in pain for several days. I don’t know that I can bear it that long.”

     “Oh, I imagine he’ll be feeling better by tomorrow, Ma’am. The cast will do its work, and the bone will start knitting back together.” Lord Melbourne ran his thumb along Dash’s white-and-brown belly and smiled reassuringly at her. “As for you… _you_ should probably go on to bed.”

     Victoria shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

     The smile turned to a pleading frown. “And if someone were to walk in and find the Queen of England and her Prime Minister alone together—in their nightclothes—”

     “ _I don’t care_. I want to be with _you_. I…I need to talk to you.” 

     Lord Melbourne sighed and glanced at the door. Dash laid his head in the crook of his elbow. Lord Melbourne tilted his own head to the side, studying the dog’s dispirited little face for a moment, then looked at her again with the expression of a man who’s made his decision and cares very little for the consequences. 

     “Then I am at your service, Ma’am,” he said gently. 

     Victoria clasped her hands in her lap. Now that it came to it, she wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened between her and Albert. After everything they’d been through together, it would be so…so _painful_ —for both of them—and yet…

     _And yet, he’s still the only person you_ can _talk to. The only one who treats you as an equal._

_Just say it. He’s never been frightened off by your honesty._

“Albert thinks I’m too friendly with you.”

     Lord Melbourne blinked. He dropped his gaze again to the top of Dash’s head.

     “And what do _you_ think, Ma’am?” he asked softly. 

     Victoria dug her nails into her hands. “I think he doesn’t understands. Until I met you Lehzen was the only other person in the world who ever believed in me—and you have taught me so much. Perhaps I rely on you more than a king would, even if he were as young and inexperienced as myself—but you’ve been more to me than simply a Prime Minister, Lord M. You’ve been my friend. You _know_ that.”

     He said nothing, but he did look up and his grey-green eyes were keen, thoughtful, and slightly-narrowed. Victoria knew that look. He was waiting for her to talk her way out of her own problem— _because he_ doesn’t _tell me how to think. He lets me come to my own conclusions._ She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. 

     “Albert always looks at me as if I’ve done something wrong. I’d like him to smile at me.”

     Lord Melbourne raised his eyebrows. “The Prince doesn’t smile often.”

     “I know! And that’s why I’ve wanted him to smile at me! Perhaps I thought…if _I_ could make him laugh and _he_ could help me see the serious side of life, we would do well together. But I don’t think I could ever live up to what he expects from me. And I don’t know that I would ever laugh again.”

     The coals shifted in the hearth and sparks flew up the chimney. The lump in Victoria’s throat burned; she sat up, hugging herself against a chill that really had nothing to do with the temperature of the library. Lord Melbourne sighed and began walking towards where she sat. 

     “With respect, Ma’am…you _do_ see the serious side of life,” he said. “You know what it is to mourn the loss of a parent you wish you could remember. You know the pain of being dismissed by the very people who should stand by you. And whereas I have a tendency to turn away because I can’t bear to feel another’s pain if I know I can’t alleviate it, _you_ always reach out. You do what you can, even if all you can do is hold a hand or…or commute a sentence, or beg forgiveness. You’re a woman of great feeling, Ma’am…great compassion. And it’s a beautiful gift.”

     Victoria lifted her head. “You don’t think I’m a silly, heartless Marie Antoinette, then?”

     “Good Lord, _no_. Do you have room for improvement? Yes, undoubtedly. Every human, even the greatest and kindest, does and _will_ for the rest of his or her life. But you are far more sensitive to your people’s suffering than any other monarch I’ve had the pleasure to serve. No indeed, Ma’am…you are _no_ Marie Antoinette.”

     Victoria nodded, swallowing hard and blinking back tears of relief. She glanced at Dash, saw he lay sound asleep in Lord Melbourne’s arms, and laughed shakily. 

     “Dash must feel very safe with you. That makes two of us.”

     Lord Melbourne smiled. “Was there anything else you wanted to speak to me about, Ma’am?”

     The thought crashed through her head like a wave: _Yes—Albert told me I should marry you—do you know how close I came to telling him I wanted to, Lord M?_ Tired as she was, she nearly gave into it. Somehow, though, she managed to shake her head. 

     “It’s getting late,” she whispered. “I should probably try putting him back to bed.”

     “Yes…and see to it you go to bed yourself.”

     “I tried sleeping on the floor next to his basket, but the floor is _hard_.”

     Lord Melbourne chuckled. “The lengths you go to for him. I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

     Victoria smiled at that and settled Dash into her arms. He nestled against her with a sigh. She rocked him for a moment, tilted her head back, looked her Prime Minister in the eye. He met her gaze, his hands back at his sides…and there was no mistaking the complete, utter love written all over his weathered, handsome face. 

     She’d known him too long—she felt she knew his every mood, his every mannerism, every subtle twitch of his mouth or flicker of emotion, even the way he tapped his finger against the top of his other hand whenever he explained some complicated political matter—and she’d seen _this_ look on his face a hundred thousand times. She hadn’t always known what it meant, but time, flowers, a few subtle comments from Emma, and simply watching him and listening to all the things he said or left unsaid had taught her well.  

     She’d never seen this look on Albert’s face. Not even when he almost kissed her in the forest. 

     _Let me be brave. He may push me away again, but oh God…please let me be brave._

“I love you, Lord M,” she whispered. “So much.”

     Lord Melbourne blinked, dropped his gaze. He clenched his hands and set his teeth so firmly, she saw his jaw flex with the effort. 

     “Ma’am…we’ve gone over this. You _mustn’t_ —”

     “I can’t help it. You’re the only one who’s ever loved me for who I am. I love you, so much…and I was reminded of it today when _you_ —not Albert, not Ernest, not Uncle Leopold—came for me.” Victoria paused for breath, raised her eyebrows. “So I ask you, Lord M, and as your Queen I expect an answer…do you love _me_?”

     At that he lifted his head and her breath lodged in her throat at the half-tortured, half-hopeful look on his face. She stood stock-still while he closed the last few inches between them until only Dash kept them apart, and then, as slowly and as carefully as if he handled a priceless artifact, he cupped her face in his hands and looked her in the eye. 

     His skin was very warm against her cheeks, but she could feel his hands shaking. 

     “You know I do,” he whispered. “I love you more than anything else on God’s green earth and I swear I will love you till the day I die, but—”

     “No ‘but’s,’ ” Victoria hissed tearfully. “Don’t make me say goodbye again. I won’t let you. You’ve protected me and fought for me so many times. You can’t stop _me_ from fighting the whole world for _you_.”

     Lord Melbourne shook his head. “I won’t let you tear down everything you’ve accomplished thus far for me, Victoria.”

     “But you are worth it!”

     “No, I am _not_. You are young and beautiful and full of promise, and I’m a jaded politician old enough to be your father.”

     “If I were an ordinary woman, would you be talking this way?”

     “ _No!_ And if I were an ordinary man I’d marry you in a heartbeat and tell the rest of the world to go to hell—but I’m not!”

     Victoria clamped her lips together, shocked. Lord Melbourne squeezed his eyes shut, pulled in a shuddering breath, and drew her closer. She closed her own eyes and shivered as he pressed his forehead against her own. 

     “I love you,” he murmured. “But I love you too much to let you do this.”

     “And I love you too much to let you go,” she whispered. 

     He pulled back, ran a hand over her hair. “Well, then, Ma’am…one of us will have to yield.”

     “And it won’t be me! I’ll find a way, I promise—even if it means I have to _crawl_ to the Privy Council!” 

     Lord Melbourne raised his eyebrows sadly. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Ma’am.”

     She stared at him, helpless. He’d given up, then. Any promise she might make, no matter how much passion and authority she put into it, he’d simply receive with that sad, quiet smile of his and a soft but unconvinced, _“As you wish, Ma’am.”_ The tears came hard and fast now, and her only saving grace was that she maintained just enough dignity to keep from sobbing. A crying fit seemed extremely childish right now while her prime minister kept stroking her cheekbone with the back of his hand and tucking her hair behind her ear, gazing at every part of her face except for her eyes as if he were trying to memorize her features. 

     _As if he thought he’d never get a chance to look at her like this ever again._

_Oh no…_ no _. I am_ not _going to let him tear himself away from me._

     “Listen to me,” Victoria whispered, measuring and hardening each word. “If I can’t keep _this_ promise, there will _never_ be a royal wedding. No, let me finish! I refuse to marry a man I don’t love—and if I can’t have the one I do love, then I _will_ be another Elizabeth. You can count on that—and neither you nor Uncle Leopold nor Mamma nor anyone else can stop me. My inclinations _are_ paramount in this one matter, Lord M. I think _I_ have the right to decide where and to whom I give my heart.”   

     Lord Melbourne said nothing. _Fine_. Let him ponder that overnight. Victoria dropped her gaze and started to move away—

     But he held her fast, his hands still cradling her head. Any protests caught in her throat as he stepped forward to keep the distance between them closed…and now he was gently tilting her head to the side and leaning forward and…

     _Oh._

     He kissed her. Not on her forehead or her cheeks, but on her lips—featherlight, tender, _loving_. Victoria closed her eyes and let herself melt into it, ecstatic and curious as he lowered his hands from her face and wrapped his arms around her and Dash. She responded instinctively, kissing him back as best as she knew how—and to her surprise he tightened his hold and kissed her even harder. Her head went light; she felt like floating.  

     _This is it…this is my first kiss…_

When he finally pulled back a whimpering gasp broke out of her mouth before she could stop it. They stared at each other a moment, breathing hard. Lord Melbourne smiled, half-triumphant and half-sheepish, and touched her lower lip with his thumb. 

     “I’m a fool,” he whispered, but without any self-deprecating venom in the remark. “And you should go to bed. _Now_. Go on.”

     Victoria smiled shakily. There was no hint of rejection in his voice or manner. This wasn’t her Lord M telling her he had no use for her heart at Brocket Hall; this wasn’t even him telling her she was a tired young Queen who needed her rest. It was simply time to end this particular conversation before it grew too…passionate. Clumsily, she loosened a few of her fingers from Dash. Lord Melbourne took them and gave them a small, reassuring squeeze. 

     “Goodnight, Lord M,” she whispered. 

     “Goodnight, Ma’am. Sleep well.”

     She laughed a little. “Oh…I think I will now.”

     And then she quickly spun around on her heel, smiling so wide her face hurt.

 

————

 

Melbourne watched her go, a dizzyingly beautiful vision of streaming dark hair and white nightgown and bare feet. As soon as she was out of sight and earshot he let out a hard, half-laughing breath and brought his hands to his face. 

     _If I’m dreaming, I’ll wake up now_ , he thought with some attempt at steadying cynicism. _Surely that wasn’t real…surely I’ve drifted off…_

But even a man as rational as he couldn’t deny that when he opened his eyes again and looked around, the library was still the same. He was still on his feet in the middle of the room, Dash had left a few white hairs on the front of his dressing gown, and his heart still pounded from that breathtaking kiss.

     He’d kissed her… _Victoria_ …his sweet, precious, headstrong, wonderful _Queen_ …and he’d enjoyed every blissful second of it. 

     Judging by her face, so had she.

     Only an hour ago he would’ve reproached himself several for such weakness. He hadn’t even had the courage—or the recklessness—to do it in the forest even when he’d wanted to so badly. But now, in the light of her fearless declaration of love the frantic clamoring in the back of his head had gone quiet. No more agonzing over the Constitution…no more fear that she was mindlessly throwing caution to the wind.

     Because she _wasn’t_ acting impulsively. Not now. At Brocket Hall, yes—but she was a different woman tonight than she had been just a few short weeks ago—and she was brilliant and shrewd, this beautiful girl he loved so completely. She’d shown that in the way she’d dealt with John Conroy, Leopold, even Albert. She knew good and well what they were up against. 

     And if she said she’d find a way, he knew she would.  

_“If I can’t keep this promise, then there will_ never _be a royal wedding.”_

He let out another breathless, disbelieving laugh as he remembered the way she’d looked him in the eye when she’d said it. He’d have to move carefully, keep both eyes and ears open, make sure whatever she did didn’t cause her more trouble than he was worth…

     _But God help me—she makes me_ want _to fight for her._

     Melbourne sank into a chair near the fire and leaned his head back, eyes closed, his heart and head quieter than they’d been in hours. Let the Constitution, the press, and her family’s objections wait for now. Tonight, he would simply think about the way she’d looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss they’d both wanted for so long, and envision a world where he didn’t have to give her up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Far more talented authors than I have written beautiful stories about a Vicbourne engagement and wedding, but since I have neither the time nor the creative energy right now to come up with my own original concept, I defer to those lovely authors and stories, and simply offer this as a possible AU for a pre-engagement scenario :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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